Name: Vinea Ixtalos
Stone location: Internally; rests somewhere in the throat region.
Gender: Male
Description of personality:

Strange, bewitched and seemingly not quite Gembound. One may describe him as something right out of the gothic, perhaps with vague influences drawn from the true faeryfolk of Scottish lore (but, yet again, without). Vinea's true nature is rather obscure, masked behind a rather unnerving set of behavioral patterns in which he tends to observe from afar, greedy- and bug-eyed with slavering jaws. Looking at him in the face gives off an unsettling air of dread. Do not trust it. All you can trust to slip from the creature's tongue are honest deals and trades --- he will not spoil his own offerings. To do so is a means to one's own end in a serially materialistic mindset. In that same vein, it's worth noting that Vinea is a kleptomaniac, obsessive over acquiring the smallest, most superficial items with little reason other than just to do it for the momentary rush of adrenaline. Being unable to steal said thing often brings about anxiety, nerves, and a general poor mood. Neither of which are desirable, as he'll just start cackling out an eldritch cacophony.

Aside from the more personal characteristics dictating his behavior, Vinea's a somewhat respectable friend to have once you've gotten past the oddities surrounding him. Subverting all expectations about his materialistic nature, he's a rather generous friend. It's touching when he bestows a gift upon close and trusted companions. "In exchange for their tolerance," he says quietly as he offers forth the gift. Ever living in deals. Additionally, he is intrigued by clairvoyance and frequently attempts to tell of the past, present, and future. The creeping mycelia is omniscient, offering views beyond the known. They will end up being his medium and greatest object of study.

Give me a paragraph or two of sample writing as the character so I know what you have in mind!

Life, a foreign concept which incited a little bit of déjà vu if he were to be honest. It was a little ironic that he had been born among the mementos of death, perhaps among the remains that incited such a feeling of familiarity. A body that was no longer his own and long-forgotten. Lost among the weathered old whale bones and dust illuminated in the dim glow of bulbs, drifting aimlessly just as he was. Only recently had the conjured up the name of Vinea, nestled atop the crevices of the low-hanging ceiling. An additive was swift to follow, Ixtalos affixed to his name. Vinea Ixtalos. The importance of identity rather eluded him, for he was just a simple creature emerged from ancient marrow.

After some amount of time (like identity, he hadn't yet figured out this idea either), he was still clinging to the ceiling, warm and dried. The winds that flowed and ebbed around the room had been the only sounds he was familiar with. A few times, small disturbances such as the shifting of old bones caused him to dim his bio-luminescence and to flatten himself against the worn old stone. Only when the perceived danger passed an hour later would he relax and continue to just gaze at the earth below. Pondering.

One such disturbance was different, marked by a peculiar white smudge emerging from the misty reverie of a gateway across the room. He hadn't yet dared to move from his spot, not even to investigate the tantalizing depths of the fog. For all Vinea knew, there was nothing beyond the chamber that reeked of rot and decay. Yet, again, that was all he knew. But there was something new to explore. Another individual. Visible life.

Hesitantly, tentatively, he crept along the worn ceiling, hooked claws finding holds in the tiniest of crevices. Beady eyes glanced down below, watching as the thing scampered across the floor, stirring up bones in an excited fit, squawking as it went. Testing the waters, he squawked in return, words foreign. A quiet little noise against the din, which went unheard. A blessing, considering the nerves that spiked within his gut at the action. It had been a greeting he would not regret in hindsight. So, there he lay, pressed up against the ceiling of the room and observing, whiskers twitching and body poised for the possibility that escape was a necessity. Not even a spare glance at him later and Vinea had vanished among the higher precipices of the bone vault, light as feather upon the gentle winds. The white creature hadn't even noticed him. Regardless, he didn't move again for a long time.